


Paranoia

by Lis (BlueTiger788)



Category: No Fandom
Genre: READ NOTES FOR TW, seriously don't read i just need to get this out somewhere and so its here but please dont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTiger788/pseuds/Lis
Summary: I know what they think about me.PLEASE DON'T READ I JUST NEED TO POST THIS FOR ME.





	Paranoia

**Author's Note:**

> TW:  
> Paranoid thoughts  
> Depressing  
> Expressed thoughts of committing suicide  
> Past attempts

I know they talk about me when they know I cannot hear.

I mean, why wouldn’t they? I know I’m just a coincidence, know I’m just the best thing they could find. A piece that doesn’t quite fit, but hey at least it’s not just empty right? They know what boils under my skin, can see the icor that drips from my tongue, can feel the anger that rolls off me like reflecting light. They’re polite about it: the gentle dismissals, the texts happening while I’m physically there, the faked interest. I appreciate it on some level, it's an offered safe space I can sink into cause lord knows I can’t make actual friends. A place I can exist in as long as I don’t rock the boat, don’t overstep my understood place, don’t mistake my place as a real one. But it infuriates me all the same. Why can’t they just be honest! Just tell me to fuck off, they don’t like me, they think I’m annoying, cruel, unnecessary. I already know I am, it’s not new knowledge. Won’t even be the first time I hear it. But no. Instead we continue to play in this mirror maze, deflecting with our lies as I pretend I’m actually fucking wanted for once. Pretend I’m not the second choice for once in my life, not the replacement, pretend like I’m wanted for more than my use.   
I’m not though.  
I know I’m not. 

I have a purpose. They defined it in untold words, in the glances, in the silences. I know what I’ve been assigned, know the tasks they have given me as my ultimatum. It’s no different than in the past, safety for use, a plastic sense of belonging so they can use me as an emotional sponge and punching bag. I’ve overstepped too much recently, I can feel it in their judgemental stares as they dig into my skin like knives. They rip me apart over and over and over again, and it's not different is it. It’s never going to be fucking different! I hope and pray and try but fuck. I’ve got no worth beyond what I can do for people and I know it. I’ve known for years. I’ve known it since I was still an innocent soul, back before I saw and heard and did and learned of things kids shouldn’t have to deal with. Back before the shadows eclipsed my heart completely, back when I had one. I know I’m heartless, know I’m cruel, know I’m hypocritical and arrogant and fucking worthless. I can feel it when they look at me, I can feel it when it goes silent after I speak, I can feel it in the camaraderie I can sense but can’t enter myself. 

I’m different.   
I’ve always been fucking different. 

Not in the ways you should be. I lack the things you should have, the things that make people human. Sub-human, an attraction or tool to use and discard once it loses its purpose. How many times have I been cast aside at this point? Too many for my tiny stupid memory to contain. I forget and move on and crack and crack and crack. I’ve been on the edge of shattering for so long I forget what it feels like to be whole, be safe, be important, to have worth. A cracked plate still serves its purpose, but once I shatter, I’ll be finally swept away. Perhaps then I can rest without all the regrets and guilt and everything weighing on me like tar. My sins are miles long, the weight of them enough to crush anyone. But I carry it, my sub-human form able to withstand it because I wouldn’t be here anymore if not. I almost wasn’t. I wish I went through with it. I should have. I hurt and I take and I fulfill my purpose but not enough to warrant my continued existence. You don’t keep a tool after it stops being useful, or once its performance flags. 

So just throw me away already.  
I know you want to.  
Do it.  
Please.  
Give me the strength to die I don’t have yet,  
The strength I need so damn desperately.

I know you want to.


End file.
